


It’s how we stop pretending.

by soulhead



Series: Footage de gueule [2]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mental Breakdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 11:23:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17202569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulhead/pseuds/soulhead
Summary: The universe expand for you, but is there enough room for me ?





	It’s how we stop pretending.

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in 2019 ! Let's all dream PSG and FC Barcelone plays against each other in the semis, alright ? :)
> 
> All the words in italics are the thoughts of Neymar !
> 
> I did my best but english is not my native language. Hopefully you will still be able to grasp the meaning of my fic !

 

Neymar didn't remember what crossed his mind when he learned PSG would face FC Barcelone in the semi final of the Champion's League.

It's all blurry to him, like a fog crept slowly into his memories of this period. The truth is that he didn't want to think about it.  
He wouldn't even be able to recall what he felt during the few hours preceding his entry into the stadium. Was it dread ? Excitement ? He couldn't tell. His brain felt like it was stuck in slow-motion and everything else moved too fast.

And so the match began. If his feelings were indistinct, his team's were clear. Everybody seemed to be dreading any false steps and did their utmost best to stay calm no matter what the other team threw at them.  
Neymar did his part, he dribbled, pressed his adversaries, avoided tackles, trying to give his team as much possession time as he could. He did so while cautiously avoiding to look in front of him, like his own mind knew what would happen if he dared to look up.

  
Without realizing it, he was giving up his striker's position to help relieve his teammate and defend Buffon's cage. Focused on the ball, he failed to see the indistinct mass who swept him off his footing to make him fall.  
The fall was minor and the game was still playing, the referee choosing to ignore this minor foul committed by an unknown player. His teammate had already retrieved the ball and the match kept playing, leaving him behind to get back on his feet.

And then, a hand was held out to him. As he welcomed the helpful gesture, he crossed the stare of his owner and his brain suddenly couldn't stop from working in overdrive :

  
The stark contrast of their two hands holding each other, the paleness of of the other's skin tone, the ever growing beard that surprisingly took an amber coloration, his dark eyes always so piercing. And more than the physical observations, there was the sensation of an exquisite warmth that seemed to have conquered his entire body from his fingers to the tip of his toes.

\- Todo va bien ? ( _Is everything all right ?_ ) Asked Messi, a look of genuine worry on his face.  
\- Si ahora que estas a mi lado ( _Yes, now that your are by my side_ )

  
And there it was, the fond and caring smile appearing on the ever so shy face of his opponent. But _too soon, too soon, too soon, too soon, too soon_ it was over as Messi was already abruptly taking off back to the game.

_Too soon !_

  
All that happened must have lasted a mere 10 seconds, but to Neymar it felt like the ground was shaking and would collapse at any moment. It's as if he was bewitched, hypothesized by the man, he felt the atmosphere surrounding him tightening, the gravity weakening until he felt like he would be able to be floating over the ground…To hear himself say those words...It felt like he opened the dam of his most repressed thoughts and feelings.

He remember hearing about this rhetorical question when he was younger " _Does the Flap of a Butterfly's Wings in Brazil Set off a Tornado in Texas?_ " ...Still inexperienced and in Brazil, he used to stay awake at night, wondering if it was possible that even the smallest of his actions could accidentally lead to his dream of an international career to be over. Was everything so fleeting, so fragile ? At this moment he felt like finally found the answer to this question. Of course a butterfly's wings could set off a tornado, after all wasn't it what was happening now ? This simple interaction with an old adversary was causing just that, a tornado. With a simple look, he felt like he never left at all, like nothing ever stopped and they were years ago, still playing together against another team. All those memories, all those marvels he experienced by his side ! All of it seemed like a surreal experience, to feel so elevated from memories and yet feel the other tide crash upon him...The self doubts, the pessimism, the guiltiness he felt constantly came back to him viciously, the fleeting moment of joyous nostalgia he felt escaped him, like he never ever felt happiness at all.

_Remembering our time together feel like finally breathing oxygen after being forced underwater for too long. It burns._

It seemed like he was lit alive from the craving of familiarity, the nostalgia this simple remembrance created and the profound despair created by knowing all of this belonged to the past. Was it true then, the myth of people spontaneously combusting ? If he looked down at himself, would he see himself disappearing under voracious flames, eating away his skin, melting his muscles for the world to see only a skeleton of wants, of needs ?

_I miss you too much. I would give everything to be by your side once again. Why did you let me go ? Do you want me back ? Did we change too much ? What can I do ? How can I do it ?_

Oh how he desperately yearned to hold this man's hand and to finally hear him utter all that was never said...He would forget of the world, of all his needs except the one to feel truly at peace. But the man was already gone and as his own own body was running back into the game, chasing after the ball. His mind, _this damn thing_ , grew increasingly agitated.

Why did his heart suddenly seem to be pumping lava instead of blood, like vultures were gawking at the very core of his being ? Why did he now feel like it was his spirit who now ran too fast unlike his surrounding ?

It was **just** a simple skin contact, **just** a simple interaction, and it made Neymar come undone.

And so, among the buzzing of thousands of supporters cheering for them, surrounded by his teammates, he never felt so alone.

_It shouldn't be like this. I should be able to be free and live my life as I wish, I shouldn't feel this turmoil every time we cross paths...I shouldn't feel like four manacles bruise my wrists and my feet days and nights, like a kite attached to a burning meteor. I should be free, free of pursuing my career as I wish, without feeling like every choices that lead me far away from you is nothing but a mistake !_

_But i'm not._

_I'm not._

_And i will never be._

This was it. The final realization he always tried to hide himself from. The single thought that made himself think those six dreadful words :

_I cannot go on like this._

For the first time in years, Neymar listened to himself and he let go.

To the outsiders, this act of letting go looked ugly. There was never anything beautiful at the sight of one individual breaking down. Some could mistake it with a sudden injury provoking pain, but some signs didn't lie. Neymar's skin looked ashen, barely a shadow of his usual golden tone, his hands were shaking and his eyes were doing a poor job of restraining tears.

And as everyone wondered what could have happened to create such apparent turmoil and uneasiness on the player's face, they observed him running toward the exit of the field and the look of incredulity on Tuchel's face before hurrying Choupo-Moting to replace him and quickly cover this unprecedented exit. For some uninterested spectators, that would be the end of it.

**But it wasn't.**

Because a few seconds later in the midst of all the confusion, a second number 10 asked to be subbed off.

And it's at this moment, all that seemed finished, **began**.

 

 

 


End file.
